SAW 3
by moises08
Summary: ATTENTION READERS! A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR ON CHAPTER 5! PLEASE READ IF YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR AN UPDATE SINCE 06.
1. Dance Of The Hogs

DANCE OF THE HOGS

His Friday night wasn't that to be expected of. He imagined it to be an erotic night out with his wife. A passionate weekend off from the world. Marcus instead awoke to not the smooth and warm voice of his model, Samantha, but somewhere cold. He'd expect the delightful smell of her perfume, but instead he wrinkled his nose to the rotten stench in the air. He expected to arrive at home already. But his heart gave a long jump off a cliff when he opened his eyes in pitch blackness.

The warm moist air clogging his lungs that choked him. He felt very uncomfortable, especially from a tight and hot metal brace around his ankle. His lower right leg throbbed with pain and swelled. Marcus's conscious mind still tried to wake from the haziness of a dreamless sleep, but his first instinct was that he wasn't where he was supposed to be. Yet, there wasn't a clue in his mind as to where or why. Marcus's only suggestion was that his right ankle was severely bruised. He wriggled his leg, still half-asleep and listened to loud clanking of what seemed to be a very heavy chain. Then his mind kicked in and suddenly he breathed in the horrid smell of mildew and rotten wood that made him gag.

Marcus grabbed hold of the chain linked to the brace and the rest of his body woke up. Never has his body worked that fast so suddenly. He sat up, feeling his sweaty matted shirt breathe. Both of his hands' trembled, shaking the chain violently. He was scared. His hands traced the chain to it's origin from his ankle to the wall and placed both palms flat against. The walls were wet and chipping. He breathed harder and tried to use what energy he had to stand up, despite his questionable bruise. There was nothing to see at all but a black curtain of warm, rotten air. Marcus's eye were full to burst, eating as much of what he can see. He scanned the room; left and right, up and down until he came upon a glowing neon 'x' on what seemed to be the ceiling. His hands followed the wall to it's end where it hit a corner with another wall. He kept tracing the walls, bumping into four corners with four walls. Basic knowledge told him that he was chained in a room.

Marcus Flint collapsed back on his knees and crawled over to the wall. His back pressed against it, his body still shaking. Even with his screaming heart, he breathed in the warm air and closed his eyes.

There was a click and suddenly a full blast of light blinded his weary eyes. He groaned and covered them, but he could still see that he'd finally found the light. After what seemed like hours of feeling over rotting walls, he found the light switch. Marcus took a few seconds to adjust before he could actually find out where he was.

A light bulb hanging by a long wire from the ceiling dimmed a most gloomy setting. It was enough to see. There was something inside the bulb that resembled a large fly but he couldn't make it out. Marcus could finally see the room he was in. The walls were rotting and the floors stained by time. There were no windows or air vents but a single large wooden door. Unfortunately for him, he was right. Marcus was chained to the wall by a large metallic brace around his ankle that already began to swell into an ugly purple. There were two other things in the room; a long rusty hacksaw and a shiny tape recorder.

Marcus moved towards the tape recorder and tossed the hacksaw aside. The blade merely slid across the room elsewhere. He glanced at the small machine which had the inscribed words of _play me _on them, which he didn't hesitate to do.

"_Hello Professor, or Marcus Flint as your favorite students call you._" A creepy distorted voice hissed though the tape, making his right hand tremble. "_I want to play a game. I've watched you for some time now and noticed how you reject the chance of the ideas of others to blossom like yours had the opportunity to shine."_

_Marcus eyebrows furrowed with both confusion and anger. _

"_So, as you've burned away the opportunity for others to grow, you will experience the fiery pain of accepting your undeserved failure. The key to your goals is in the light of your dreams. If you fail to reach your dreams then earn your freedom though the sharp and painful work that you also force your students to endure." _The voice stopped and Marcus could make out soft breathing. "_Don't forget 'x' marks the spot. Let's see if you'll sacrifice your hands for the work to burn, but be careful you'll need the light to see your achievements. Hurry before your laziness will smoke your goals. Let the games begin." _There was a final click and the tape ended. Marcus breathed harder and he felt his pulse speed up. Never in his entire life has he heard of such false testimony. But he grinned and threw the recorder with all his furious might at the wall which shattered into many fragments.

"What Am I Doing Here?" He angrily shouted aloud pacing to and fro, his chain dangling behind his ankles. "I'm Did Nothing Wrong! Somebody! Please!"

Marcus vented off his anger splintering the damaged the walls until his knuckles were numb and sore. He raged about, cursing and questioning the situation. Suddenly he felt something sharp cut his bottom right foot and he collapsed on his left side with a yelp.

Marcus was beyond aggravation when he looked down at his right foot. It bore a deep cut. He growled in angst as he wrapped both hands around his right foot which didn't help at all since blood began to slip through his fingers. Marcus breathed in a full breath of stale air and flung the hacksaw at the wall as well.

The hacksaw only dangled and fell back to the floor, leaving a bloody groove in the wall. He laid his back on the floor and placed both hands on his head, breathing harder than ever. He didn't pay attention at all to the bulb that immediately began hissing with steam slowly rising from it. The bleeding began to cease, leaving a small red puddle on the floor. After closing his teary eyes he sat back up and looked around the room pathetically. Somehow, somewhere, he knew what this whole kidnapping was. He saw the reports and some news coverage only recently. It was whom they called Jigsaw and his games of death.

He hadn't at all noticed the absence of his memory. Apparently, he could remember nothing from the night before. But Marcus didn't have time to think, he didn't want to. He knew that the obvious way for the victims of these games to survive was if they sacrificed something they loved or needed for the sake to live. However, during one report which was held on national television, all victims had another chance survive without giving up anything at all; only their time, patience and mind to think. Almost all of the victims overlooked this obvious logic which they'd ended up having to choose a one way out, usually ending with a great amount of blood on their hands.

Marcus, however, wasn't your everyday man. He was a brilliant college professor at Morgan University, a good one as well. He taught many geniuses in the class of Scientific Engineering and Calculations, but he never rejected or refused the thought of any of his students, not once. Which is why the sudden boiling anger within him was not of the kidnapping itself but at the thought of this maniac referring to him as an obstacle to his students. He cherished his student's theories and ideas with a passion and has never rejected any in his career.

Marcus grunted and sat down, tearing off a long strip from his sweaty sleeve and wrapped it around his right foot. The sleeve immediately absorbed into a red color but he knew that if left alone, it would gradually heal. Marcus coughed and smelled a small hint of smoke in the air. He gazed around and much to his surprise the room was beginning to look quite hazy. He stood up, pain from both right foot and left ankle and glanced around for any clues.

Marcus recalled that these victims each had a clue that was an 'x' shaped mark. Those marks bore great hints for them. The voice said that same thing in the recording. He looked up and grinned at a small pale light yellow 'x' painted on the ceiling. It was very difficult to make out with the glare of the light bulb but he knew that it was there, he had the gut feeling that excited him. He remembered the glowing 'x' earlier on. The 'x' was right in the center of the ceiling with the light bulb swinging on the long wire that went through the middle of it.

His breathing started to burden him. He noticed that smoke began to rise from the suddenly bright bulb. Not only was it increasingly steaming but it indeed had something inside of it, now it turned out to be more of a sharp edged fly. He looked closer at the 'x', which was directly at the light, and tried his hardest to think of the riddle. His eyes burned as he stared in a deep trance or thought. The smoke was getting heavier and his heart more frantic. There was something he was missing, something that was too obvious for him to miss.

Marcus smiled an angry and cheesy grin when he saw it. It, a key that was hidden inside of the bulb. What looked like that sharp edged fly was actually a key for a lock, presumably the brace around his left leg. He laughed out loud in an angry cheer and frantically jumped. But he did not only feel the pain of stress on both feet but the insane burning of his hand when he grabbed the bulb to break it. He screamed in pain and fury when he fell down on his feet again. Instead of the bulb shattering with the key plummeting down, he heard the hard crash of his body and the dangling of his chain.

"Dammit That was stupid!" He growled and glanced down at this trembling and burning hand. He looked back up at the light, growing brighter and smokier, and cursed himself for not seeing it. The light bulb was probably too small so it couldn't hold that much power. Obviously it burned at the high temperature which lead to the rising smoke. He fought with the real idea that sooner or later the bulb will burn out. His freedom would be impossible then. He shot a quick glance at the hacksaw and chuckled. "No. I know better."

Marcus searched for the keyhole in his brace before taking off his shirt. He tore long strips and wrapped them around his hands. Since bulb is too hot to hold, a coat of protection is needed. He kept wrapping the strips from the shirt around until it covered both hands like thick mummified gloves. He looked up at the glaring bulb, as bright as it was, it looked as if it would give out at any moment. He thought to himself, _there's a way for anybody to get what they want. All they have to do is think smart. _

Marcus jumped up reaching towards the light until his face went pale with silent angst .He dropped back on his feet again and growled in pain from the sheer weight of the chain and the pressure on his bleeding foot. He looked at the floor and saw a bloody footprint under his right foot. Marcus breathed in warm determined air and jumped once more with a grimacing look on his face. His open palm was barely an inch away until he descended back on his feet. The chain clanked loudly and his right knee trembled. Once more he opened his gloved hand and jumped up leaving two bloody prints on the floor. Marcus Flint latched onto the bulb and squeezed.

There was a blinding flash with smoke clouding everywhere. Then Darkness draped it's body over his eyes. Marcus came down on his left side again and he heard the sound of broken glass tinkling down on the floor and the sizzle of the burnt out light.

Marcus groaned and rolled on his back. His eyes were shut closed, however he still felt the hot, smoky darkness embrace him. It became really hard to breathe once he began what was to be nonstop coughing. He opened his blanketed hand for the key but it wasn't there.

Cursing under his breath, he began to unroll the sleeves on his hands. They were numb and warm but nonetheless safe. Then he got on all fours and slowly swept his hands on the floor though the darkness like a blind broom. There was the occasional stinging of the broken glass that dug into his palms. He cringed and groaned, stopping to pick out any deep glass. kept crawling and felt something sharp and heavy on the floor. The hacksaw laid undisturbed until he ran his finger over the rusty warm side. The feeling drew icy shivers down his spine. The thought of many before him who hadn't thought slowly and chose the path of the saw had made him tremble. He kept on his way until he heard a small dingle beneath his coughing and rustling. The key was resting right before his left hand. There was a hidden smile in the shadows when he sat back up and brought the key towards the brace. There was a loud clank and the brace opened it's straining jaw.

Marcus slowly rose up with both feet sore and began to walk over the shattered glass and the blood, leaving the brace and the hacksaw in it's place forevermore. He reached forth and quickly grabbed the knob, still trembling and coughing, and walked out.


	2. Game Status

GAME STATUS

"How many times do you have to say that?" A beautiful smile widened.

"As many times as I can." Marcus grinned with the greatest bliss has to offer. He was sitting right next to a very attractive woman on a couch. The television was still on but they paid on attention to that. Both lovebirds were locked in a strong feeling and as they kissed, their freckles on their eyes were mirror images to one another's.

"Well, I love you too." Samantha, giggled and pecked him on the cheek. Marcus Flint was back in his living room. He turned to the television, still holding her hand, and listened."

"_-thank you Frank. I'm at the intersection of Browly and Furnace and just one block behind me down Browly, there is a murder at the local strip club that is being investigated as I speak. Now, no details have been confirmed yet but what I now at the this point is that Jennifer Simons of age 26, a stripper who worked there has been raped and killed this morning at around two. Police investigators are working hard and have closed off the block for further investigation. One person who the police are considering questioning is the boyfriend of Jennifer, Forest Simons. Now coincidentally enough, Forest Cedars is respectfully enough Grant Cedars' brother. Grant Cedars of age 34, Is the owner of the club and he has be retained for further questioning. Right now there are no other suspects or witnesses detained-"_

_Marcus sighed and shook his head. He turned to Samantha with bothered eyes. "What are people thinking when they do these things?" Samantha merely shrugged and looked back at him. _

"They just have no life in them. They're like empty shells." She replied at the end.

"Your cousin's been acting like that."

"Like what?" Samantha looked at him with questionable eyes.

"Like an empty shell."

Samantha only looked back at the television and sighed. "Her case is different. You know that. After what happened to her, she has to be feeling that way. She's going to be unsocial for a while." Samantha shrugged unknowingly. "To be honest, I don't even know where she is. She hasn't called me in weeks since the incident." They kept quiet leaving only the television talking. "Still , I know her. She does things like that, I mean even though Amanda's mysterious in some ways she'll be fine. After some therapy, I'm sure she'll be back." She beamed back at Marcus.

He nodded to let the subject pass. "I guess. You know, I've been thinking a lot."

"That's your job." She giggled.

"Well of course, but I think it's my students. Their really beginning to become troublesome. Especially one man, he's criticized and accused me so many times. It's beginning to bother me." Marcus screwed up his face in deep thought. "No matter, it's not going to affect me that much." Samantha looked back at him and pecked him on his cheek once more as they continued to watch the screen.

_"-the search for Alberto Rodriguez of age 35, has been stopped. He was reported missing three days ago and-"_

_The monitor turned off. _

Marcus stood still in total darkness. His breathing was faster than ever and his arms were stiff. He felt his body shaking in exhaustion and fear. He didn't know how long he stood there but he could feel his eyes regaining control. If it wasn't that putrid smell of rotting wood, it was the stale air that burned his wide bloodshot eyes.

Time can play awful tricks on the weakened mind. First he remembered him turning the knob to his escape when he remembered Samantha, or the last time he saw her. To Marcus, it felt as if an eternity swept past him when it only took a few seconds to twist the knob. The memory of past delights made his insides cringe and when he had finally opened that door he heard a wire snap. It all happened within seconds; a blast of rotting air, more stronger than before and The smell of fumes that burned him. Suddenly there was a clicking sound and a lamp from somewhere across the place he was in now began to brighten. It grew brighter and brighter. Marcus could briefly make out a room with a dresser, a door, a sink, another door and a bed before the lamp grew so bright that it burnt out with a flash, blinding his sensitive eyes to the spot. It all happened so fast that he just stood there, which was where he was now.

Jigsaw Lied. There were two games. He clasped his hands over his eyes and grunted. Both of his hands still bore tiny cuts and small shards of glass from before. His hands slowly fell from his sore eyes as he regained his senses. He could not afford lose any amount of decent logic. So he thought once more. When he had opened that door a trap wire was somehow triggered to turn on the lamp at full blast, until it burnt out blinding his eyes which had been used to the darkness already. And if the eyes took an average of ten to fifteen minutes to settle into the darkness once again, he would be like this for a while. He was to stand right there until he regained his vision so that he wouldn't foolishly walk into any other traps.

Marcus was smart, but he kept walking straight into traps no matter how smart he was. It seemed as if this Jigsaw was smart, to an extent. As much as he had heard of him on the news reports called him a maniac, voyeur and a prophet. His engineering skills were beyond anybody's grasp, yet they were so simple to solve. However, this time around, Jigsaw wasn't living up to his reputation. He wasn't being the genius he was known to be, not that Marcus wanted him to be any more dangerous. Instead this lunatic was being barbaric. It seemed as if he didn't look at the small details, only the big picture. That mistake sounded familiar.

He kept his balance not wanted to touch anything that would further limit his chances of survival. He understood that this wasn't a puzzle of wits and intelligence any more, it never was actually. Instead this was a game of bloody murder. Marcus finally got it. Jigsaw was being himself back when he was chained but now he literally wants to kill him. There was a battle of glare, distortion and darkness within his eyes. He slowly moved his hand around without making a step until he felt something soft and damp to his left. He pressed his palm down on it and the softness sank a little. It was obviously a bed. With what he could come up with, Marcus could swear he was in an everyday room, only to be left as it was for years of abuse. The room before was surely a closet, though if what he feared was right, Jigsaw intended for him die not just by one round.

He began to miss his Samantha. He craved to get out and run straight to her. He smiled in the darkness and nodded to himself. "Of course I will."

Marcus had the urge to just feel around his walking space. Because his eyes were no good, he would see through his feet. So he began walking just a few inches through the floor until his feet stopped in front of something hard nailed into the ground. He carefully bent down and felt the cold sharp side of an object right in front of him. True he was being paranoid, but he felt other sharp things next to his feet that would make anybody scared. There were no riddles or clues to warn him of this. He then rose up again with sweat trickling down his nose and thought to himself of what was the plan Jigsaw might have had at hand. If the victim had somehow survived that closet, they would quickly run passed the door of the sheer excitement, tripping the wire and setting off the flash. Then they would stumble all over the room, onto many of these sharp objects. Most likely many knives.

He felt his eyelids screaming to shut but kept them open as wide as possible. He promised himself this would all be over. Then his eyes slowly gained control of the atmosphere even with the burning air and he looked around gasping for the absent light. Then he saw to the corner of his eye many blue streaks of light. He found it reassuring that there was a boarded up window to his left beside the bed. Marcus couldn't explain it but with every flaw of Jigsaw's plan, he could tell that his wasn't the genius meant of him to be. In fact he wasn't smarter than a college graduate.

Who was this Jigsaw? What were his motives? Why was he doing these things? Why did he choose him? So many questions swirled within his aching head since the beginning. For the first time in his career he kept quiet while working out a problem. Only, this wasn't a problem at all. As soon as he blinked, he could see perfectly in the dark again. He looked at his feet and there were fifty or so knives of all sizes and shapes nailed to the ground in front of him. He stared at the sharp rusty sides staring back at him. Their teeth prepared to eat him alive once he made a false move. Why did Jigsaw want him to die?

The sound of wet clattering caught his ears. He could feel the coldness of wet air from outside seeping through the boarded windows. That too felt comforting in the tight hot toxic air he breathed in. With the memory of Samantha's eyes he looked to his left and carefully got on the creaking mattress which sunk dangerously low. He couldn't go around the surrounding knives so crawling over the bed was his only way out. If a person had failed to slow down obviously, they would trip over the knives. But if they only thought enough, they'd survive.

Marcus was on all fours on the bed, and even though he found his pathetic he felt the urge to get to Samantha no matter what. He slowly crawled with careful precision. The bed squeaked and creaked with sounded unassuming to the ears. When he got close to the edge of the bed he lowered his right leg over the edge and allowed his left knee to pressure the bed. Then the bed gave out it's last cry with a huge moan. The mattress fell straight down on the floor and several long hidden blades penetrated through the bed, striking his leg. He screamed out in rage then he closed his eyes and clasped his hand over his mouth as he began to moan in pain. He felt the icy burning sensation of the blade. It was lodged into his leg right next to his shin bone. Marcus breathed harder and harder until his lungs gave out from all the rotten poison in the air. He was breathing burning fire.

The top of the mattress soon became a dark puddle, soaking the red blood like a sponge. He couldn't move at all. His leg was tightly struck by the blade which had a fun time of cutting away of his leg muscles. He breathed in a large warm breathe of painful air and grabbed his left ankle which was still bruised by the chain and lifted the leg off of the of the grinding teeth of the blade. And of course, blood spurted from the gashing wound. As soon as he finally pulled his bloody leg from the blade that poked through the mattress along with many others, he collapsed on his back gripping his wound with such angst and pain that his gave was red and teary. He could've almost died right there and then, but he laid there trying to find something to stop the bleeding. Then he used a strip torn from his bloody pants to wrap around the gorging cut.

After a while he grabbed the side of the bed which made a small waterfall of blood rushing over the edge and slowly tried to stand, though with incredible pain. He trembled and painfully rose up with his screaming leg at it's worst. Marcus then looked around and found the boarded window only a few feet in front of him. Then he began to limp over with such grimace and silent fury, that it hurt it even thinking about what he wanted to do to Jigsaw. He had an idea though.

Marcus left all sense of civilized logic and immediately gripped the knob to the outside world with justly anger. Then he opened the door as fast as he wanted to get out and saw 'Room Number 36' on the top of the outside of the door. Who was this Jigsaw? What kind of man dared to test him that far? Who was willing to get torn apart for such inhumane games. It didn't matter, it needn't to. For Marcus Flint was free.

A rush of cold air stung his aching body. Every part of his body down to the last cut felt the icy blast of the rainy wind. He began to limp outwards and way from the room was in. He turned around and looked back at the room and stopped. Marcus was standing in the middle of a parking lot, surrounded by a shady motel in the outskirts of the city. There were numbered rooms that partially surrounded the parking lot like any motel would, some of the doors boarded up, the windows shattered. He saw his room number and looked at all the others, and began laughing. Marcus felt a total shock and disbelief, though with great triumph he had finally won. The cold rain stung him like icy needles but he didn't mind. A highway was next to the lot but there were no cars that passed by, splashing mud about. He didn't know whether he had the rain trickle down on his cheeks or his tears, he wasn't really an emotional man but this was past the limit.

Marcus suddenly slipped and collapsed on the hard wet concrete. He looked back at the opened door of the room with a cringing look but smiled a victorious smile. Marcus crossed his arms to embrace the cold and looked to the next room immediately ceased laughing. There was a very large glowing 'x' painted on the door right next to his room. Where his room had 36 on it, the next had 37. The 'x' was just staring right at him from across the car less lot. He shivered in the cold and fought with an idea. He looked over through the highway and saw a pone booth. He sighed and closed his eyes in deep thought once more. Jigsaw had made his move, now it's his turn. Marcus slowly stood up again and made his way towards the phone booth.


	3. X Marks The Spot

X Marks The Spot

Pain is a poison to the memory. Marcus Flint limped before an old wooden door. His hair was matted down by the cool rain from above which reminded him of a time when both Samantha and he had enjoyed an evening's walk in the sprinkle of the clouds. He gripped an old pipe in his right hand that he had picked up on his way to room thirty-seven. After a good two hours in pain it finally came to this. He wasn't a man of vengeance or violence, but he wanted answers.

Memories of his wife had flashed in and out like the ongoing pain of his torn leg. He needed to know why and if his plan went well, there would be justice. Marcus gripped the pipe even tighter and used his left elbow to slam into the door. The door opened with a crack and he stepped right in.

'This Jigsaw isn't as smart as everybody had thought of him to be.' He thought to himself. He felt his body move without his senses, but in his cae, he had every right to. Marcus knew that if he was to enter through the front door of the room, something would be set already. Besides, Jigsaw intended him to go through the front so he would have prepared something beforehand. But one thing puzzled Marcus. He had gone in through the backdoor which had nothing set. Was Jigsaw really that blind to see such an opening? It was as if Jigsaw really was looking at the big picture and not the fine details of an accurate plan. Once again this reminded him of somebody.

It was dark in the room. Marcus slowed his pace and held the pipe behind his head like a batter. His eyes had long been adjusted to, save for the swelling, and they scanned every inch of the room he was in. He walked by a couple of what seemed to be oxygen tanks to his left. They stood firm against the wall having wire wrapped around the top knob. Marcus saw the window and the bed and a dark figure that hit him across the face.

He grunted and landed against the wallthough his legs kept up, even with the soaring pain that throttled within him. They wanted to end this as much as he did. Without thought, he swiped the pipe around hitting air. Jigsaw stepped back and moved around his hitting range to grab his throat. Marcus gagged and rammed the end of the pipe into the area of what Jigsaw's ribs would be. Jigsaw staggered back and growled, cursing under his hood that hid his face. Marcus walked over to the lamp in hope that it would work and turned it on. The lamp only flickered, trying to live again. It flashed on and off giving the room an alarming scene.

With dire intentions, he jolted forward and slammed the pipe into his face. The hood was still on when he dropped down as he struggled to get away his hitting range. Jigsaw was on all fours trying to get afar from the whistling pipe. Marcus swiped the pipe once again against his back, brining down Jigsaw flat on his stomach. The prone man grunted and spat out blood with fast breathing. He grabbed Marcus's left ankle and tugged. Marcus yelped as his back smacked against the floor andthe pipe fell from his hand, rolling to the side.

Jigsaw crawled over to him and gripped his throat with one hand while he reached towards his pocket with the other. Marcus's wide open eyes still couldn't see his face. But then he rolled his hand into a grip and struck his fist against the nose of Jigsaw. His whole arm swung around as Jigsaw fell to the side, both hands on his bleeding nose. Jigsaw's hood fell off and Marcus looked into the face of one of his students named Greg.

Marcus quickly got up as he struggled to say anything. His face went pale and his eyes red with anger. "What the hell is this?" He stammered.

Greg slowly got up as well, his nose dripped blood everywhere. His swept his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood. "You know damn well, you over confident piece of shit."

The lamp continued to flicker. Marcus couldn't say anything except, "You're going to jail, do you know that."

Greg spat at him. "There's nothing anybody can do about it. I waited so long, planned everything so hard. But you just kept walked over them. You were supposed to die Dammit!"

Marcus's eyes furrowed. "What the hell is your problem Greg? What did I do to you?"

"What didn't you do to me!" Greg shouted. "All this year you put my ideas down, you stole away my chance of showing the world my plans and theories. You said they wouldn't work, well you living on to tomorrow, that's what's not going to work."

Marcus felt the fiery anger burn within him, but he didn't want to hurt him anymore. This was his student, and he cares for each and everyone of them. Though the questions still remained. "Why did you do this to me?" He said in the most calming tone he had left.

"You were in my way." Greg grinned a bloody smile. "You had everything I ever dreamed of. I wanted to be what you've become. I wanted my ideas to become famous, I wanted my theories to become known. With you in the way, you stopped me."

"But why this? Why this game?"

Greg sighed. "I admire Jigsaw and his work. I enjoyed every report and document out there about him. He was a genius, you know. Unlike you, he didn't want fame and glory. He just wanted his ideas to be well known, and he did it alright. I knew you liked puzzles, so I designed this whole game to fit your standards. And dammit did you screw the whole thing up."

"I didn't. I've noticed that like your work, you didn't take care of the fine details. Instead you were too excited to worry about that and just focused on the big picture. Because of that you failed to make a proper plan. It was flawed and therefore I escaped. You wanted me dead that you left out the important details of what it really meant to be human."

Greg became horrified. "There you go again! You're Always Brining My Ideas Down!"

"Dammit Greg! Listen and stop thinking that you're a top notch theorist. That's why your in school, because you want to learn, do, make mistakes and do again. Not to show off your flawed plans. I'll give you credit for some skill but Jesus! I mean, this isn't what a human mind was meant to be. Listen closely now, If you wanted to capture a wild animal you would use all the technology and knowledge you had to do so, however, because you were so confident in doing so, you've overlooked the one important detail that brings the whole concept of the animal's life together. It's wild. And because it's wild in which you failed to recognize, it will survive in any means possible. Now, I don't know what had gotten into me in the past two hours but I escape, because I was human and in times of danger a human will do what it does to survive. A Human is still an animal Greg"

Greg became silent, gripping his hand in total fury.

"Now, Greg. What you did was unbelievable. It wasn't human at all, in fact your actions were beyond the limits of morality." Marcus sighed and dropped his pipe. "You're going to jail Greg." Marcus finally had time to breathe and to think to himself. This man was the reason for it all. 'No wonder the traps seemed so, unprofessional and lame.' He was in deep thought until he saw the insane breathing of Greg as he reached for his pocket.

Marcus rushed forward to grab both of Greg's hands. "Greg! What are you doing?"

"I'm going to end this game! I want you out of the way and out of my problems!" Both men were locked in a clash to stay on both feet. They both wrestled a foot.

Marcus tried all his might to bring him down but Greg had used the wall to support him. "Greg, killing me won't give you anything!"

Greg teeth were clenched. "I'll have Peace! Fame! Glory! A life!" He began to snicker and then finally laugh. Marcus had for the first time lost hope in his student. Marcus used his foot to trip Greg, but with him grabbing onto Marcus's shoulder he brought him down as well. Both their shadows wrestled on the wall as they tried to pin each other down. Greg slammed his fist into his through, making Marcus cough and gag. Greg quickly rose up trying to support himself by resting his side against the wall. Greg reached for his pocket once again.

Marcus could take no more and he kicked Greg straight into the gut, sending him flying back against the wall and the sliding down on the floor. Greg's eyes were widened with horror and his body laid still as ice. Marcus slowly got up with some pain in his legs. Greg trembled with pain as he looked down to see a knife sticking out from his side coming from his pocket. Blood began to drip like an angry waterfall, swirling around in a puddle in the floor.

"Greg, look at what this had come to." Marcus breathed rapidly, his body aching but with all the pain that night, a hit in the chest would be nothing. "Look at what you had to do to kill me. Did you kill me Greg?"

Greg looked up at him teary eyed and pulsing. "Screw off, you ass." Greg coughed and sniffled. He looked up at Marcus once again and asked, "Cop's have guns right?" Marcus didn't answer. He tried to pull out the knife but the pain was too severe. He sighed and closed his eyes, still breathing but resting. Marcus shook his head and heard sirens and tires screeching. He stood were he was and awaited for them. The front door burst open and in came four local policemen holding guns. "Put Your Hands Up!" Greg chuckled with his eyes closed. There was a click and hissing in the air, probably from the rain.

Two cops and a doctor came up to him to inspect him and ask questions. Marcus could see the swirling of the red and blue lights. They guided him out as he saw the four cops shouting at Greg as they walked over to arrest him.

Marcus was already out when he saw the three squad cars and an ambulance. The rain had stopped, leaving only puddles of murky water all over the parking lot. Then he thought of something. He came in through the back door because he knew Greg would prepare a trap for him if he went in through the front, probably a finale trap. The cops came in through the front door. Greg's voice echoed inside him, "_Cops have guns right?_" Marcus turned around with a pale face. "Get Those Men Out Of There!" He shouted at the cops.

Inside, Greg opened his eyes and slowly raised himself up. The cops immediately stopped and pointed their guns at him. "Stop! Stop Where You Are!" Greg only clenched his teeth and pulled out the knife from his side, shouting in agony. He looked at the cops and pointed the knife at them. "Stop! Or We Will Fire!" The cops shouted at Greg who merely made his way towards them swiping the knife everywhere. The cops had no choice but to fire. At that same time one of them managed to glance at the hissing tanks in the corner. "Don't Shoot!"

There was a roaring blast of fire that exploded inside that room, taking out a couple of others. Streaks of fireballs were sent flying, lighting up the wet night sky. Marcus and several others squinted through the heat and glare which was mixed with flashing of the squad lights. Marcus wanted to know who was this Jigsaw, the real one. The genius known to have made a turning point in modern history. The philosopher who inspired one of his students to do the same, all for the sake of an idea. Marcus had an urge to find out.


	4. The Violator

-1THE VIOLATOR

Alan Ross lowly gazed out the station window. He saw his own reflection in the darkness of the evening. He had a painful cringe inside his gut and it made him sick. Ross looked back at Detective Kerry and noticed that she was sincere. He couldn't do anything to change that look on her face. From that point on, he was as good as lonely.

"Now, I have to get back to my desk. I got papers there, so if you don't mind, I really wish this can end here and now. I'm sorry Alan." She sighed and walked out of Ross's office, closing the door behind her.

Ross listened her walked down the hall over the typewriters and the phone ringing. He was now alone and it bothered him very much. He sighed and turned back facing his desk. He had a nice mahogany office desk, a plaque in front of him carved: Detective Alan Ross, about a good dozen certificates, honors, achievements and more plaques hanging on his walls. But however high his rank was, it didn't raise his spirits. He somehow felt hollow and shamefully depressed. As if trying to get back something he lost long ago, didn't and never will work. His heart mourns as the clock ticks away by the second.

Eric smiled at his erotic dream, which he had very often. His subconscious body slowly twisted and turned with the soothing dream. Eric snickered and slowly opened his eyes. Somehow his shoulders ached. He breathed in what seemed to be plastic air and yawned.

Eric looked around him and in a second his body froze. He looked up and saw his arms being hung up by the wrists by four wires coming from two holes inches apart in ceiling. His breathing sped up and his eyes widened. latched his front arms from his wrists to his elbow were two long heavy metal bracelets. He barely noticed them and his arms suddenly became heavy by the weight. Both bracelets were tied by two wires each; two thin wires and two more thicker wires.

He gasped and started to move around frantically. "Wha-?" He stammered as he looked around his feet. There were about a good thousand jigsaw pieces scattered around the floor. He had no shoes, nor any pants or even a shirt. Eric trembled and couldn't speak. He saw to his horror that he was in a very thin closet with a light bulb dangling barely inches above his head.

"Shit Man! Shit!" He felt his whole body tremble with fear and surprise. He looked up at his dangling arms, both supported by the two thicker wires each. He tugged and pulled but couldn't detach his arms from the long braces. Then he noticed the watch on his right arm brace and another one on his left. They were both set on twelve and didn't move. Both braces had some sort of gadget in the center of each of them, like a hinge.

Sweat slowly dripped down his face as the bulb slowly toasted his forehead. "Help! Help Me! What The Fuck Is This?" He wriggled like a fish on a hook. In front of him was a wooden door with words written by a dark red color on it, red that resembled dried blood. He tried twisting and turned, desperately trying to free himself with groaning and cursing, but it would never work. He looked at the writing and read: _Are your words as thin as glass, or is your honesty as hard as steel? _

His eyes furrowed at this and he tried to look behind him but with no luck at all. Suddenly, there was a voice inside the closet. The voice was like a static distortion of the devil's tongue. Cold and mechanic. "_Did you sleep well Eric? I hope so, the day ahead of you will be either busy or quiet. It depends on your actions here right now. You see, I've been watching you and I've came to the conclusion that your not at all the pure man you say you are, well at least your hands say you aren't. To a regular human being, they would see clean hands of a nice man, through my eyes I see differently. You've stained yourself with prostitution, impurity and many other dirty acquisitions that you learned through your sexual life. Well, it seems if one were to wash a way the undeserving filth in this world, one must start with the most dirtiest laundry._" Eric breathed harder and he tried his hardest to recognize the voice.

"_Don't try to figure out who I am, just picture me as a judge of life. Now what you have above you are two arm braces that are both tied to two strings each to the ceiling. One sting is a lot thicker than the other as you can see. In a moments notice, I will ask you a question. If you fail to provide me with the correct answer, I will detach those two wires, leaving you to dangle with the thinner ones. Let me add that the only reason that your arms are dangling above you is because the braces are both supported by the thick wires, and only the thick wires. I would like you to figure out yourself as to what will happen if you are left with the more thinner ones."_

Eric couldn't find out where the voice was coming from. His heart merely raced on the edge of bursting. He thought to himself and instantly knew that his arms would be free. But he still didn't understand as to what was happening. Everything was blinding as it was confusing to him.

"_Allow me to explain. The braces on your arms are nothing more than a machine designed to fold up in a "v" type position like a door hinge. As soon as the supporting cables are lose, you have to rely on your own strength to keep the weight of your sins up. If you fail then the last two wires will snap, setting off a timer on each of your brace. When the timer reaches twelve again, the trap will set off and your arms will be broken down the middle of your bone in a most disturbing position you will ever face. However, during those sixty seconds you have with your free arms, you have a chance to set whole soul free. There is a key hidden among the thousands of puzzle pieces that you are standing on. Find that key and set each of your arms free before the timer runs out. The door in front of you is opened, but sometimes even the dumb will notice the obvious."_

"No, No, No, No! Please No! Help Me! Oh God, No." Eric whimpered. "I'm sorry, please no." He glanced at this braces and saw the key holes on both of them.

"_Eric, your hands stain the purity of many others. The impure should not be left on this world to dirty the rest. So, I will offer you a game. A game that will test how much you truly want forgiveness and that will even push your faith in your own freedom from your sins to the limits. If you do however answer the question correctly, I will remotely shut down the machine and detach you. Now, this is my question: What is greater than God, more evil than the devil, the poor will always have it, the rich definitely need it, and if you dare to eat it, you will die." _Then there was silence. "_You have five minutes." _

Eric began to panic thinking in his head for answers, _' money, food, life, I don't know! Oh God I Don't Know!' _Eric's lipped trembled as he began to feel the pain of dread.

"_Four Minutes." _The distorted voice growled.

Eric couldn't take it. He began begging forgiveness inside his head for every dirty sin he'd done. He just wanted to go home. All he wanted was to leave this place and start over.

"_Three Minutes."_

He twisted his arms and pulled with such strain his arms would've popped right out. Eric whimpered and cried. Then many ugly memories began to spill inside his head, making his insides churn with dizziness.

"_Two Minutes." _There was no heart with that voice.

Eric couldn't escape. So he sighed and sniffled, breathing in his last breath of confusion and frustration. He looked around him and noticed the braces even moving with his trembling and shaking body.

"_One Minute." _

Eric almost shouted at once. "Money! It's Money! The Answer's Money! I'm sorry." Eric wept to himself, listing to the abrupt cold silence.

"_Prove it." _ The voice snarled. Eric looked up at the thick wires which then snapped, letting the braces go. Eric yelped and held his arms up with his full strength. Sweat slowly drenched his face. He screwed up his face in struggle to keep the wires intact. "Oh God Please No!" Eric couldn't lift his right arm up any longer. The weight was far too heavy to hold. And he slowly let his arm drop with a cry. At eye level the wire had snapped in two and he heard ticking. The timer was set. His mind raced and his heart tore it's self apart. Eric looked up at this left arm and let that one drop too. It's wire snapped and the timer started as well. His sweat mixed with his tears as he dropped on his knees scrambling all over the floor for the key.

Digging through the mass pile of puzzle pieces. He turned around in circle, crying desperately. Then he saw a hole in the wall behind him. Inside the wall was a beautiful brown eye looking straight at him. The eye suddenly disappeared and he checked his the right timer. His right arm only had thirty seconds to live. His left wasn't too far behind. He shifted through piles of pieces, thought with great difficulty from the heavy braces.

Then he saw a rusty glimmer in the corner of his eye. With only fifteen seconds left for his right arm, he jolted towards the key and picked it up with frightened hands. It was a mixture of horrifying dread and screaming faith. He didn't know how he ended up in that situation, but everything that voice had said was true. But when he saw jammed the key into his the right brace's slot, he had a smile of success. The timer stopped and the brace opened up with a clank, dropping it's heavy self to the floor. Eric was so ecstatic that he dropped the key again. He panicked and tried to look for it with shaking hands.

He had only twenty seconds left for his left brace, but somehow he couldn't find the key. He kept his search on high alert, frantically saying a prayer here and there until he noticed the last ten seconds. Eric screamed in fearful dread tossing the pieces side to side like an angry child searching for his lost toy. The last five seconds was but a tear and a request, "Save me."

It happened rather quick with a metallic snap. The timer clicked and without a moments notice, not hesitation, Eric witnessed his left arm split in halt. The bone crushed down the middle and folded just a door hinge. Blood splattered everywhere and the poor Eric had screamed bloody murder that his ear had burst with such high frequency. He fell on his right side, crying and screaming. Eric's mind was tearing in half with the pain. He grabbed the knob of the door with his normal right hand and opened the door.

His left arm horribly disfigured, and he never ceased his blood screams as he slithered out of the closet and into a thin hallway. There was a door with a small doggy door on the bottom. Eric didn't think and only acted as he jolted forward like a starving predator. But it was the sharp pain of a million knives that stabbed him when he crawled through the floor of the thin hall. Sharp, bloody glass pointed upright lined the floors like the marching phalanx, all jabbing his stomach with their stabbing ends. He didn't care however of the pain that had began to shred the soft pulpy belly he had. Eric crawled like the wounded animal he was until had finally reached the door.

He stuck half his body out of the doggy door screaming for help. He couldn't see, hear, breath, think or feel much of anything. Eric had half his body dangling out like a limp corpse. It was really a tragic sight to behold. The red juice from his body ran down the bottom of the door, slowly forming a puddle around him. And somehow, somewhere he heard that same voice again.

"_Congratulations Eric Sullens. I respect your decision and I promise you'll feel comfortable enough where you'll be heading. Remember, nobody likes the impure." _ Eric was blinded as he gagged and gasped for air. His eyes bloodshot and rolled back and his screaming burned his lungs to the core. He hand never imagined him to go this way. But in a way, everything he'd done was far beyond that of an apology. It deserved the forgiveness of blood.

"Alan, wait." Ross heard the sweet voice of Detective Kerry. He had his coat on and was about to head out from the police station before Kerry stopped him. She grabbed his shoulder and he stopped before he left out the door. Ross looked behind him and saw to his sudden great relief that Kerry was there.

"You can't go." She said with sincerity.

Ross had a puzzled look, though inside he was smiling. "Really, why is that?"

"There's a case I need you to look at with me. It's my case, but I need a second view." She handed him a large folder.

Ross's heart dropped stone cold, though he shown no emotion. "What's it about?"

"It's The Jigsaw Case." She sighed and clenched her fist. "There's been another one."


	5. A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR

**A NOTE TO ALL READERS!  
**

After some time of looking I finally found my original plans and documents I had for this story. I had lost all of the data in a computer crash but I finally got it back.

So, I will continuing this story but it won't be SAW 3 anymore since the latest one is already 5. I'm going to change it up a bit and move on. I know some of you liked my story and some of you wanted more to justify your preference. I understand. I also understand how I might have let some of you down by not writing in a while. I apologize for that.

With that said, I am starting over. My new username is **Efrain Hernandez. **That is my true name. Look me up, add me to your favorites if you wish. I'll be posting a lot more stories for now on both on fan and fiction using that name. Both sites have the same username.

Anyway. I'm sorry for the inconvenience and I look forward to your reviews when my new updated version of this story comes out later this month. The story must continue and after two years of planning…it will be good, I promise you that. -EH


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